Both Silvain and k' Adesina snapped to rigid attention as the mechanical carrying Claybore' s torso and skull glowed a deeper blue and walked swiftly from the room. Albert Silvain sank to his chair in relief when the mech had vanished.
" What did you do wrong?" he asked k' Adesina.
Her chocolate eyes blazed.
" My defeat was small compared to yours. I did not lose our lord a bodily part. I merely failed to destroy Martak and the spider." She sneered as she added, " Even without Claybore' s urging, I would gladly slay Martak."
" Why?" Silvain heard the personal animosity toward the young warrior ringing out like a black bell.
" He killed my husband."
" Martak has led a checkered past, it seems. And one more impressive than I had thought."
" I had him in my grasp and I lost him," Kiska k' Adesina said, her words quavering with emotion. " That will not happen again. This time he will be mine!"
" I rather think our duties lie in obtaining for our lord what he seeks," Silvain said dryly. He brushed away imaginary wrinkles in the map before them and looked it over. The stone hut they huddled in was centrally located to both Bron and the city of sorcerers. Claybore' s entire encampment could be shifted to either target quickly; earlier subjugation had gone well and left the two most difficult goals close to one another, allowing concentration of forces. Silvain stroked the stubble on his chin, ran his finger over the rough parchment map, then indicated a star on the chart, asking, " This is the location of Wurnna?"
A curt nod.
" So. I believe a frontal assault in such a fashion gives the greatest chance for success." He sketched out the paths for k' Adesina.
" No," she said emphatically. " This is not the way."
" May one inquire why not?" Silvain' s pride had been injured by her adamant denial. He fancied himself a master tactician and was unused to having anyone contradict him. While he had failed in the Twistings, it had been due to unforeseen powers controlled by Lan Martak and not from any lack of genius on his part.
" This canyon- this corridor leading to the gates of Wurnna- is off limits for our troops. A man standing on the battlements can whisper and be heard throughout the canyon."
" So?" Then understanding burst upon Silvain. " The tongue. This Iron Tongue can turn our soldiers against us. Is this organ so potent?"
" It is. What once belonged to Claybore produces magics of the first water when used by another. Iron Tongue speaks; all who hear him believe without question."
" Can Claybore conjure against its use?"
" That is the tongue' s power. It enhances spells tenfold. Perhaps a thousandfold. I am no sorcerer and cannot say for sure. This I do know. As long as Iron Tongue uses it, we must beware of sending troops to their death."
Silvain laughed harshly. " Let them die. What we must guard against is this Iron Tongue turning them against us." He saw that Kiska k' Adesina agreed. He went on, warming to the topic. " Let us think on possible approaches and meet once again in, say, one hour."
" That sounds logical. That will still give us a few hours before midnight to work out a plan together." Her brown eyes locked on his cold dark ones.
" Yes," Silvain said slowly. " Together. Definitely together."
He folded the map and left the room, his thoughts on more than battle tactics.
" Should we take the time to torture him?" Alberto Silvain asked. The woman' s expression told him the answer. She wanted to see pain inflicted and would not be swayed, no matter how pressing other matters became. Silvain idly wondered if k' Adesina would risk Claybore' s displeasure over this.
" There are new magics my torturer wishes to show us," the brownhaired woman replied tartly. " I would see them."
" Very well." An indolent wave of the hand hid Silvain' s real interest. He had never considered magic a fit instrument for torture. Such inventiveness added new dimensions to Kiska k' Adesina' s convoluted character.
She snapped her fingers, then reclined in the highbacked carved wood chair dominating the simple stone hut. Numerous others before her in the chair had left stains and burns on the broad arms. Her own fingers threatened to put in new depressions. Silvain smiled slightly at her tension. It was the eagerness of a horse in a race that affected her, not fear. She yearned for this torture.
" Milord, milady," said the effeminate man at the side of the room. " With your kind permission I shall begin."
K' Adesina nodded curtly. The mage- torturer' s expression never changed as he began muttering a chant under his breath. Silvain strained to catch the words. The rhythm seemed oddly familiar, but the words eluded him. All chance of overhearing and learning a precious new spell fled when a shriek of pure agony filled the chamber.
" There," said Kiska k' Adesina. " One of the men captured at the debacle in front of Bron. I ordered him brought here to discover the true nature of that fiasco."
Silvain tented fingers and balanced his chin on the ridge formed by the tips. He dispassionately studied the poor wight being dragged into the chamber on barbs of pure magic.
Fight as he would, the prisoner couldn' t escape a tiny yellow circle on the dirt floor. Hands pressed against unseen barriers. But there was no exit except death; the man failed to appreciate that. Silvain immediately pegged the man as a lowly soldier, probably nothing more than a spear- carrier.
" Can you learn anything from the likes of him?" he asked k' Adesina.
" We shall see. My Patriccan is most skilled."
Silvain only shrugged. His attentions turned from the prisoner' s cries for mercy that would never come to Kiska k' Adesina. Her rapt gaze told him she obtained more than information. To her this was a sexual stimulus, an aphrodisiac. Or was it a mere substitute? That was an item to be explored later.
" How did Noratumi destroy a full company of our soldiers?" she demanded.
" Lady, release me. I: I will tell alllll!" The plea fell on deaf ears. She motioned to Patriccan. The old, wizened mage rubbed gnarled hands together and began repeating the chant Silvain had noted earlier.
The yellow circle on which the prisoner stood began to turn from yellow to a deep gold, then it became orange and red and red- white and finally white- hot. The captive danced like a bug on a griddle, unable to leave the ring of magic and slowly charring from the soles of his feet upward.
" What spell did Noratumi use to defeat our troops?" she asked again, her voice rising in pitch.
" He: he is no sorcerer. He hates them. We of Bron war against Wurnna."
" That much seems apparent," said Silvain. " These reports verify it." He tapped his knuckles against a closed leather- bound book on the table in front of him. Leaning back, he hiked feet to the tabletop, watching both the victim and k' Adesina past his boots. Silvain presented the perfect picture of a feline at rest.
" Up," the woman ordered her mage. Patriccan' s hands rose slightly, witchlight glowing at his wrinkled fingertips. The effect on the prisoner was even more startling. The white- hot circle began to lift from the dirt floor. When it reached the man' s knees, his cries became totally incoherent.
" How can you get decent information when he babbles like that?" asked Silvain. " You, Patriccan. Clarify his words."
" A mind burn, Lord?"
" That might be interesting."
" I am conducting this, Silvain," the woman snapped. " I decide what is to be done to this fool."
" It is only a suggestion. I have never used magics in this fashion before, but a mind burn proves most effective during battle, when the opposing leader can be singled out."
" Do it," Kiska k' Adesina said with ill- concealed anger. Silvain lounged back, content now to watch. Agitating the woman further served no purpose. He had learned as much about her as he desired. For the moment. It was the mage that drew his attention now. The spells used were variants of simple fire- starting chants, but with certain arcane twists. While no mage himself, Silvain maintained an arsenal of certain useful spells. The time might come when one served him well.